


Worth it

by Sherctorrunning23



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cutey Sherlock with Rosie, First Kiss, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Proclamations of love, literally just fluff, so very fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:32:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9523040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherctorrunning23/pseuds/Sherctorrunning23
Summary: Sherlock loves John Watson, and he's finally worked up the courage to tell him so.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and comments :)

This was it.

Sherlock knew this was it the moment he woke up, on that normal day in December, lying in his normal bed, at the normal time, as the normal sun streamed through his curtains and threw warm golden light at the dark shadows on his walls. He knew this was it because, for the first time, he had woken up feeling free and unburdened: a far cry from his normal state, which was caged and miserable.

The reason why he felt miserable the majority of the time was because Sherlock Holmes was desperately and irrevocably in love with his (Flatmate? Best friend? Blogger?), a man by the name of John Watson who loved hideous jumpers, the winter and adrenaline rushes and hated the year 2013, cold tea and Siri. Sherlock had been in love with John Watson since the day after he met him (January 27th, 2010) and had remained in love with him through a year and a half of living together, two years of faking his own death, another two years of John being married, and now over a year of John’s wife being dead and John’s daughter being raised.

At this point, Sherlock was almost certain that he would love John regardless of anything that might happen.

He got up, threw his baggy grey shirt on over his pyjama bottoms, and padded into the living room, where a note from John lay on the table. Sherlock picked it up, scanned it ( _Sher- gone to get some milk. Rosie with Mrs H. NO MURDER MYSTERIES. JWx)_ and then opened the front door and screamed, ‘MRS HUDSON!!!’

Mrs Hudson appeared on the stairs, holding John’s disgruntled daughter in her arms. ‘Sherlock, I must insist that-‘

‘I need Rosie, I have some ideas to bounce off her.’ Sherlock tapped his foot against the floor impatiently, and held out his arms for his favourite little Watson. ‘Rosie! Come to Sherlock!’

Rosie squealed in delight and held out her arms. ‘Sher! Sher!’ Upon Mrs Hudson setting her down, she squatted up and climbed the stairs quickly, before throwing herself into her (Uncle? Guardian? Friend?) _Sherlock’s_ arms. Sherlock felt that once-unfamiliar feeling in his chest (sort of what he felt for Mycroft, but more intense and with less hatred) and buried his nose in her soft blonde curls, hugging the warm little body tight to him. ‘Hello, Rosie,’ he murmured softly. ‘Shall we talk about Daddy?’

Rosie and Sherlock’s favourite topic was John Watson. Rosie couldn’t really speak in full sentences yet, being a slightly above average toddler of just twenty months, but Sherlock could speak enough for both of them, and Rosie never shot him down like he was pretty sure everyone else would. Plus, she couldn’t yet tell John. This was also a large advantage.

Sherlock settled down on the sofa, adjusted his shirt and plonked Rosie on his stomach. Rosie stuck her finger in her mouth and looked at him intelligently (‘That’s the Mary,’ Sherlock would always say, and John would laugh). Sherlock sighed. ‘Rosie. I think it’s time.’   
Rosie blinked thoughtfully.

‘I know I say that quite often, but I really mean it this time. He’s- he’s going on dates, for God’s sake. He’s laughing when we talk about Mary. He _says_ he’s feeling better all the time.’

‘Hmmmm.’ Rosie dribbled.

‘He might be faking it,’ Sherlock conceded, ‘But I don’t think he is. And he seems to enjoy this arrangement, us all together at Baker Street. And Mary practically gave us her blessing!’

Rosie raised her eyebrows quizzically.

‘Alright, she might have meant it platonically, but with me and John there’s always the question of whether it’s platonic or not.’ Sherlock groaned and threw his head back. ‘I’ve tried _everything,_ Rosie. Irene Adler. James Moriarty.’ Rosie shut her eyes. ‘I _know_ it was a mistake, don’t make me feel guilty! I never thought I was capable of it! _Mycroft_ isn’t.’ Rosie looked sceptical. ‘His thing with Lady Smallwood is revolting, not love.’ He gently brushed a curl away from her little face, staring into those big blue eyes. ‘Should I?’

Rosie looked at him in a way that seemed to say _don’t pussy out, Sherlock, just get on with it already._

Sherlock nodded determinedly. ‘You’re right, Rosie. I need to man-up.’ When Rosie looked offended, he hastily added, ‘I meant- human up. I’ll do it today. I promise.’

Rosie looked satisfied, and Sherlock felt indestructible.

Of course, it was one thing saying it to a toddler and another saying it to the man you were in love with.

Sherlock couldn’t tell him when he came back with the milk. He couldn’t tell him when they were playing Cluedo (Rosie was delighted when Sherlock threw the board at the wall). He couldn’t tell him at the Yard, not with Lestrade and Donovan there, and he couldn’t tell him when they were watching Jeremy Kyle, Rosie sat between them, staring in interest at the turn ups on the man’s jeans.

He still hadn’t told him when they sat down to dinner, John spoon-feeding Rosie noodles as Sherlock picked at his beef.

‘So Harry texted me this joke,’ John was saying. ‘And usually they’re stupid, right? But this one-‘ he snorted, and Rosie huffed as the spoon jerked away from her mouth. ‘This one was: what did the beaver say when he slipped on water?’

Rosie looked at Sherlock gravely. _It’s time,_ her eyes said, and Sherlock clenched his fists. It was time. Yes. He could do this. He was Sherlock Holmes, for Christ’s sake. Sherlock-bloody-Holmes-

‘Dammit!’ John laughed at the exact moment Sherlock said breathlessly, ‘I’m in love with you.’

Awkward silence. Rosie broke it by gurgling and sticking her fist in her mouth.

John was staring at Sherlock, open-mouthed, and Sherlock was staring at his plate, instantly regretting it. ‘Sorry. Say that- say that again?’

‘Um- which bit, exactly?’ Sherlock raised his eyebrows innocently.

‘Don’t play coy with me, you just proclaimed your love for me.’ John had gone very pale and was blinking rapidly, spoon shaking in his left hand (Rosie tried to grab it but just missed). ‘Right?’

‘Ahem.’ Sherlock was suddenly regretting not taking more info on whether John actually reciprocated his feelings. He didn’t want to be rejected, not at all, no, no, no.

Rosie threw her head back in apparent disdain.

‘Sherlock…’

‘Yes.’ Sherlock looked up and let out a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I did. Say that, I mean. I was discussing it with Rosie earlier, and she- we decided that it would be beneficial for me to reveal my feelings. To you. Seven years is a long time to be in unrequited love, and I’m sure you understand it was weighing on me.’ He paused. ‘I feel much better having said it, though.’

John nodded thoughtfully and stuck the spoon into Rosie’s mouth (Rosie smiled happily). ‘I see.’

Sherlock picked up a bit of beef and chewed it. ‘Well. This beef is a little tender for me.’

‘I haven’t tried it.’ John glanced up at him. ‘But…I’d be willing.’

Sherlock pushed the plate over, relieved John was talking to him. ‘The sauce is exquisite.’

John laughed, inexplicably, and the sound warmed Sherlock’s racing heart. ‘God, you’re bad at picking up on hints. Sherlock. I want to…not be platonic.’

‘With me?’ Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, scarcely daring to believe it, even as John snorted. ‘Yeah. With you.’

Sherlock’s face broke out into the widest grin he’d ever produced, before valiantly controlling it and coughing. ‘Delightful.’

Forgotten in her high chair, Rosie banged the shelf with her fist. For once, neither men looked down at her.

‘So…’ John fiddled with the spoon. ‘I- I mean. Um. Right. Shall- d’you want to kiss me?’

Sherlock shrugged as nonchalantly as possible, even as his brain exploded into a billion tiny stars. ‘Suppose.’

John stood up stiffly, and Sherlock followed suit, walking around the table until they were about a foot away from each other, eyes fixed, hands clenched, hearts pounding.

Sherlock could scarcely believe how close to fruition his dream had become.

John stepped slightly closer. ‘Do- do I tilt my head?’

Sherlock blinked. ‘I don’t- it’s been a while. Shall I-‘ He stepped forward and raised his right hand to cradle John’s head (John’s breath shuddered in his throat) and placed his other hand on John’s back. ‘Ok?’

John was quiet for so long that Sherlock, hands held stiffly in position, began to feel a little bit uncomfortable. ‘John. Ok?’ He was beginning to wonder if this was a bad idea, if he’d been imagining it, if there really wasn’t anything there and _oh god please let that not be true._

John opened his eyes, which were burning with something Sherlock couldn’t quite understand, and muttered hoarsely, ‘Oh God. Yes.’

At this point, they started kissing.

Sherlock wasn’t quite sure who leaned in first, but somehow they ended up locked in an embrace, John pressed against the living room wall, spoon digging into Sherlock’s back, lips connecting the two of them in bright, heated light as Sherlock’s world imploded around him, walls crashing, cities burning, and John Watson taking over his entire brain for the rest of his life-

‘Definitely not a bad idea,’ Sherlock mumbled, and John bit down hard on his bottom lip (did Sherlock groan? He thought he might have). ‘No. Good idea. Very- _fuck, Sherlock,_ very good idea indeed.’  

Sherlock was in seventh heaven at this point, barely able to process John’s words, or the skull tipping precariously to the floor, or even John’s daughter, screaming in her high chair-

_Rosie._

They noticed at the same time and broke away instantly. The moment they were apart, Rosie’s frown lifted, and she held her arms up to John. ‘Dada!’

John picked her up, though he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Sherlock. ‘I- I can’t-‘

‘I know.’ Sherlock leaned against the table, hardly able to believe what he had just done. ‘God, John. _Seven years._ ’

John smiled, that little side-smile that made Sherlock want to laugh and cry, all at the same time. ‘I know. God, Sherlock, I know, I know, _I know.’_ He paused. ‘And this- all of this- is this what you want?’

‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted,’ Sherlock whispered, realising he meant it with all of his broken, but fixable, heart.

 John ducked his head. ‘Me too.’ And then, with that smile, that _brilliant smile,_ he looked up and he said, in that tone of voice that was just _pure John_ , ‘Worth it?’

Sherlock raised his head and looked at John, standing with his daughter in his arms, and saw the life that he had always longed for in his grasp for the first time. He saw his life with John, his life with Rosie, the life that he was going to have, _now,_ and he smiled back.

Heart bursting with love, he cupped John’s cheek, planted a kiss on his ( _daughter’s)_ head and then kissed his ( _love)_ gently on the lips. ‘Oh God, yes,’ he whispered, and threw himself straight into the life that he felt, for the first time, he deserved.

 


End file.
